


Desperate Measures

by Januarysixth



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, awkward scholar!reader, but listen, mine is a pun, smol!reader, there are 183 other fics with this title, whatever the opposite of a slow burn is
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-08-11 18:47:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7903654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Januarysixth/pseuds/Januarysixth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was unusual for textile engineers to obtain measurements themselves. Then again, subjects don’t normally decapitate their protocol droids. Short on time and options, you were thrown under the proverbial hoverbus. </p><p>**Takes place approximately five or six years before TFA.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Desperate Measures

“There’s no need to endanger actual personnel, Leonard. Send a droid.”

Silence once again permeated the sterile, sequestered lab. Continuing your work in stride, you behaved as though no one else was present, embellishing the discomfort of your shifting colleague.

“Well, we did…”

With a tight breath, your fingers curled up into their palms. The message was implicit, but understood all the same.

It had only been a few days since one ‘Kylo Ren’ boarded the _Finalizer_. With him came a vague and ominous memo to all ship personnel; obey his every whim, or else. This individual was not part of the standard military hierarchy, but an agent who reported directly to the Supreme Leader. His formal title was _Master of the Knights of Ren_ , whoever they were. Explicit knowledge of their purpose was not available to a person of your paygrade. Which was fine, a lowly researcher like yourself had no reason to investigate the shadowy organization further.

In fact, talking about the agent beyond his capacity within the First Order was forbidden. In spite of this, Kylo Ren’s reputation preceded him. Even an anti-socialite like you couldn’t avoid the contagious whispers circulating the vessel. Due to the nature of rumors, you suspected many of them got carried away. For instance, one Stormtrooper claimed Kylo Ren had mystical powers, that he could move objects with a thought. Others say his gaze could pierce into a person’s very soul. Each story became more ridiculous than the last. You, a student of reason, knew better than to subscribe to such hearsay.

Superstition aside, technicians and janitorial staff alike had verifiable horror stories. In the catastrophic aftermath of his tantrums, countless consoles have been ruined and several officers have required medical attention.

This was the man that you and your team within R&D: Textiles had to outfit.

Somehow.

“So now we’re, what, throwing living cannon fodder at him until something sticks?”

Leonard rubbed the back of his head, struggling to get to the point. “Look, we’re not made of protocol droids with this particular functionality. They take time to replace - this was supposed to have been done _yesterday_ and now we’re getting heat from the higher-ups. Doc suggested he might respond more favorably to an actual specialist and… the general agreed.”

“A specialist?” There were only a handful of specialists he could have been referring to in this context; and two of them were in that room. The reason for his unwarranted visit became more apparent by the second. “Specialist as in… _me_ specialist?”

The coward cringed a shrug in reply.

“Leonard! No!”

“C’mon, tech. You know you’re the most qualified for this.”

“Am I, _Leonard_? You’re technically my senior and are therefore far more qualified than I to _obtain measurements_. You do it.”

“No, I mean… You’re a woman.”

Dread washed over you, certain of where he was going with this wildly offensive logic. “That… has nothing to do with anything.”

“Listen, he’s only ever lashed out at men. Even the droid we sent had male coding. Except, Doc tells me he didn’t announce his purpose before going straight in for the measure, so he’s uh… melted now. You should be fine though.”

“No no no. Four men does not a convincing sample size make. Also, that’s a very backwards assumption of our new superior. I’m sure he destroys indiscriminate of gender… and _justly_ , in the name of the First Order.” You added the last thought haphazardly, just in case the walls were listening. They were.

“So, _we_ discussed it…”

That _we_ conveniently excluded you.

“…and we decided he’d be the least agitated by you. Can you imagine his reaction if myself or Doc knelt down to get his inseam? You on the other hand, well, you’re so quiet and diminutive he’d hardly notice you’re there!”

“How dare you.”

“Please, tech, you gotta do this. You’re the only one who can, we’re all counting on you.”

With bitter skepticism, you peered at him through narrowed lids. “My name is already on the task list for this, isn’t it, Leonard?”

“I… may have added it. Yes.”

Embracing the futility of your situation, a laugh escaped you. Not that you found any of this funny. In fact, you resented your colleagues in that moment. The titter was just an unfortunate, nervous tick.

“You’re expected. So… I suggest you get a move on?”

You were so dead.

* * *

Fish out of water, you scurried through the infinite halls of the _Finalizer_. Clutching your datapad and measuring instrument close, you frantically avoided eye contact with any passing Stormtroopers.

As if it wasn’t obvious enough, it was uncomfortable for you to be anywhere but the confines of the lab. At least there you had a semblance of control, you could make sense of things. Everything had a cause and effect and there was a method to getting results. In your findings you were diligent and articulate, useful.

In the real world you were a sorry introvert and had no business speaking to anyone. Ever.

Knowing you hurried towards death himself, your anxiety peaked at an all-time high.

At last you arrived at a sealed blast door, one you didn’t have clearance to open. This was the correct destination, make no mistake. You prided yourself in the meticulous execution of any instruction. But, this didn’t seem like a superior’s quarters. You found it odd that there was nowhere to buzz in. It’s not likely he would hear if you knocked.

Panic.

Did you miss something? No, that can’t be. Did your colleagues neglect to give you a passkey? What if the general faults you for being late? Or never showing up? What if they eject you from an airlock? Perhaps if-

Breath seized in your chest as the door hissed and slid open. Wide-eyed, you stared into an abyss. Were you supposed to…?

Willing one foot in front of the other, you passed the threshold with wavering confidence.

**Author's Note:**

> Trying to shake writer's block, so here is a thing. I'm shooting for 3 chapters, but I can't imagine it'll have more than 5. First time writing in the second person! It's weird.


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